Distort
by SeleneIlene
Summary: Oneshot: Ib finds herself haunted by voices and delusions after escaping the Fabricated World. Guilt consumes her as she struggles to remember the friends she left behind, and the pain only worsens when she tries to bring them into her reality. Contains Insane!Ib.


**A/N: I don't own Ib. There. :(**

Summary: Oneshot. Ib finds herself haunted by voices and delusions after escaping the Fabricated World. Guilt consumes her as she struggles to remember the friends she left behind, and the pain only worsens when she tries to bring them into her reality. Contains Insane!Ib.

Enjoy~!

* * *

"I just…don't know what to do anymore. She hardly eats, and when she does she seems to be in her own little world."

"How long has this been going on again?"

"About a month. It started when we came back from an art gallery-you know, the one where they had works by Guertena not too long ago? Yes. My husband and I worry something happened there. We let her go off on her own for a few minutes, but it was only until we got home that we realized something was wrong."

"Hmm. I see. And you say…she draws?"

"Yes. All kinds of horrible things! She carries that sketchbook with her everywhere, and her hands are always dirtied with lead."

"Have you tried confronting her about it?"

"She won't even look at us, let alone listen."

* * *

Ib broke all of them, but it wasn't on purpose. She had been trying so hard to perfect the arch of his nose, because it was _not smooth enough_. Everything she did, though, just made it worse. Each stroke, each scratch, each _tiny _millimeter of a scribble. And it did nothing to help.

The man's face was ruined in the end, a black blotchy mess of crayon. Ib could not contain the anger inside her. It burned her very being and lit her pale skin on fire. She began to claw at her stomach, at her arms, and her legs. All she wanted to do was get this thing out of her. This dangerous, wrathful thing away. So she screamed and screamed at it. She told it to leave her alone, but it ignored her, and continued to surround her in the flames of hell.

Her anger ebbed away, replaced by a vengeful hate. Ib took the box of crayons, and broke them one by one, throwing the little pieces to the other side of her room. Her screams turned to sobs, and she buried her tear streaked face into her hands. Ib curled into a ball, and rocked back and forth, trying in vain to receive a sense of comfort by the action.

"Please," she whispered, pleading this time. "Just leave me alone."

Perhaps it would have been better if her mother did not hear her. Perhaps it would have been better if her mother did not see. Because if she hadn't, Ib wouldn't have had to go to the doctor.

The doctor made it worse.

* * *

"Can you tell what you and your mother did yesterday, Ib?"

…

"I see you bought a new coloring book."

…

"Would you mind if I took a look at it?"

"NO!" an inhuman scream tore from her throat, and she wrapped the coloring book in her arms, hugging it tightly. Ib's eyes darted from one side of the room to the next. No one could look at it. No one would _ever look at it. _She wouldn't let them. If someone defiled her drawings with their dirty eyes, she would hunt them down and make them regret it.

The drawings were hers. No one else's. No one, no one, no one, no one, noonenoonenoonenoone.

Ib hummed to herself, and blocked out the sounds of the doctor, who was attempting to talk to her. He didn't get it, did he? She wasn't in the mood for talking right now. Oh, no. How could she be? The doctor wanted _them_ gone. But they were the only ones that understood her! Surely if he knew they kept her sane, he would back off, right? AhahahahHAHAHAHAHA. Funny. That was funny. Of course he wouldn't. The doctor was being paid to **fix her.** If he didn't, Ib's parents were going to take her somewhere else.

Stupid doctor. He shouldn't try and stop the voices, or the voices would get him, too.

"Do you mind if I draw with you today?"

"H-huh?" his question took her by surprise, breaking through all Ib's mental barriers. Why would he...?

The doctor held a sketchbook in one hand, a #2 pencil in the other. He was smiling at her. It was not a mocking smile. "My son likes to draw as well," the graying man said. "_He draws all sorts of things._"

"Oh," her hands trembled with excitement. "Like what?"

The doctor's smile grew even larger, until it resembled that of a Chesire cat. "Roses, Ib. My son draws roses."

A small thrill ran up her spine.

* * *

"Red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow," she sang. Her hand seemed to dance, fingers swaying. Its partner was the paintbrush she held, and she flicked it. Fun. This was so much fun. She was bringing them back! Little by little. With each portrait she crafted, she felt the voices grow stronger.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "My friends! My friends! I'm coming for you. Don't worry! I'll save you. Both of you."

The clock was ticking, though, and Ib knew she was pressed for time. If she did not recreate them soon enough, she'd never be able to see them again. The doctor-oh, how she loved him! He gave her the easel and the paints, and said that they were free as long as she showed him what she painted. Ib was okay with that. If it wasn't for the doctor, she wouldn't be allowed to even sketch! Her parents thought it was bad.

Sometimes Ib drew so much, for such a long amount of time, that she forgot to eat. She forgot to sleep. Maybe it was because she didn't need to sleep. The dreams which accompanied her throughout the day were enough. It felt more real when she was awake anyway.

They would reach out and hug her, their shadowy hands radiating love. And she remembered. For a second, she truly did. Tears ran down her face, and she was not sure if it was from happiness or pain. But it left her as quickly as it came, that feeling did, and Ib was left with emptiness once more.

"Red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow," she began again. "What fun we'll have."

"Together forever. After all, didn't we promise to be reunited? I don't like being all alone, you two." Ib continued to paint, her brush strokes careful and clear.

Hours later, when she finally finished the painting, she heard them again. They seemed to enjoy her work. Why wouldn't they? It was a picture of a vase, which was home to three flowers. Roses to be exact. The red one was the smallest, and overshadowed by the roses next to it. Blue on the left, yellow on the right. Their stems intertwined in front of the red rose; the thorns a barrier of sort, one which protected the smaller flower. The small one was too young to grow thorns of her own.

Ib felt something from the painting. It was...a pulse of sorts. A dull, faintly heard drum. Yes, there was life in these flowers. There shouldn't be, but there was. Even the yellow one had its own heartbeat.

The girl exhaled, in awe of her own creation. "I'll...remember you," her eyes shined. "I know I will. And no matter how long it takes, I'll find you and bring you home."

* * *

"Roses," the doctor murmured. He wrote something down in his notebook, and looked back over at Ib.

She nodded her head affirmatively, smiling. "What you said-about your son-it reminded me of something, you see."

"Oh?" he asked, amused. "And what exactly did it remind you of?"

"My friends," she told him softly, face glowing at the thought. "I left them behind, but I found a way to bring them back! So I won't be sad anymore! I won't be lonely!"

"What are their names, Ib?"

The girl scrunched up her nose. "I-I don't remember. When I came back, I forgot."

Her doctor patted her head lightly. "It's alright. I'm sure the more you draw, the more you'll remember."

* * *

Ib moved on to clay, because she wanted to make it real. She saw it in the mirror, sitting behind her, and also took note of the questionable blue presence beside her. If she sculpted the mannequin head, perhaps Ib would discover who the blue aura belonged to. It sounded like a good plan in the beginning, but the problem was finding the clay. She needed to get the right kind, which had the perfect texture and color.

The doctor, despite being quite useful, would get an ugly, cheap clay. It wouldn't be good enough. Ib knew that, which is why she went to the store in the first place.

Her mother and father didn't know, and neither did the doctor. Ib didn't believe her parents would realize a few dollars were missing. For now, this was her little secret.

The girl went and found her clay, as planned. Her excitement in doing so, however, prevented her from noticing the voices growing stronger with each step she took. It was only when she stood at the counter, tubs of white clay in hand, that she felt the screaming. Ib fell to her knees, tubs tumbling to the floor, and cried out in pain. The voices...never before had they been so loud.

"Urgh," she clutched her head, eyes rolling.

"Hun," a feminine voice called out softly. "Hey? Are you okay?"

"What happened to her?" a deep, rough voice soon joined the mix.

Someone caught her as she fell backwards. "Nnnngh," Ib focused her eyesight on the person who held her, zeroing on the face above. It was a rather youthful man, with blue eyes. He wore the mandatory uniform that was required of all employees, but his outfit wasn't what caught her attention. His name tag did.

It read 'Gary'.

Ha. Haha. HAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH AHAHAHAH~! ONE MORE 'R'. That's all the man needed!

Black spots dotted Ib's vision, and she told herself she would have to thank the man later. He had, after all, helped her remember something. No matter how little it was, it was something in the end.

* * *

"You shouldn't have gone to the store without asking them, Ib. They're very disappointed in you."

Ib ignored the doctor, and she would continue in doing so for the rest of the hour. He was lying, anyways. Her parents hadn't cared. They'd just been worried, that's all.

Hmm, she thought to herself. Maybe if she tilted the paper a _little_ to the right...?

Ah, yes!

Ib grabbed the pen and began to draw with a new found motivation. She darkened the corners and filled in the shadow, completed the outline and perfected her calligraphy. This picture would be colorless, like the others Ib had been drawing lately.

"I do hope you show me that sculpture when you're done with it. I'm curious as to what had you so excited about working with clay. You seem to be taking your time starting it, though. Tell me, Ib. Why are you sketching? I'll allow for you to work on your clay model in here."

The offer was generous and very, _very_ tempting...But Ib would have to decline. She didn't like showing her creations to the doctor anymore. She was tired of explaining them to him. If he couldn't understand what it was that she, the artist, was trying to get across, why did she have to bother anymore? A chore. That's what it had turned into.

Besides, all Ib needed was them. They should be the only ones to see her drawings. She realized this now.

"Garry," she whispered. Her ever thinning hand traced the beautiful 'G', and moved upwards to where the flames spilled out of the lighter. "I'm almost there."

* * *

It was harder now, to think on her own. With the voices inside of her, how could she? It was better to let them do things for her, let them think. Much better, in fact. Ib's head didn't hurt hardly as bad anymore, and she could feel herself getting closer and closer to her looming goal.

She had forged the walls, molded the puzzles, painted the portraits, raised the ceiling, and lowered the floor. It had labyrinths and roses, mannequins and mirrors. Her world was almost perfect. Ib realized it was like a newborn baby, though. It had the flesh, a body to call its own. What it needed was the soul. Hadn't she already been doing that? Ib thought she put a little bit of her own soul inside with each artwork she crafted.

That was not the case. No. She needed a whole soul. But how could she possibly place a soul inside her world? Unless...she made one. If she built her world's skeleton, surely she could make its insides.

And so she did. Ib created a soul, one with memories of long ago, of regret and forever. When she painted its true form, the soul had a body to call its own. When she placed it in her world, it had a home. A domain. The soul quickly took the reins from Ib, and added even more to their world with an imagination that could revival Ib's.

The soul she created was female. Her name was Mary.

Of course, Ib knew this was not Mary's first time existing. The blonde was in Ib's memories of the Fabricated World, and had been a painting wanting to escape. How funny. Mary was sort of a painting again, trapped in a world between nothing and something. She would always try to grasp at the strings of her own fate, but without fail, she would be sent tumbling back down. Rather ironic. Rather cruel.

Ib tried not to dwell on it far too long. So what if Mary would never feel the sun? She was halfway alive, and wasn't that better than not being alive at all? Reviving Mary had been a must. If she did not have an insider controlling the world, her plan wouldn't progress.

Sacrifices were necessary in times like this. Still...

"Mary?" Ib called to the girl.

The blonde looked up from her coloring book, gazing at Ib with those unnerving sapphire eyes. She smiled with pearly white teeth. "Hmm?"

"I was wondering...how would you like someone else here? To keep you company when I can't."

Mary nodded her head eagerly, smile growing even wider. "I'd love that! I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate my dolls, but I was hoping there might be another person who could do what we do."

Foolish. Mary did not know Ib was different. She didn't even understand the other girl brought her back from the Abyss of the 'Dead'. That she was just a copy of the original Mary. That she never could, and never would be the girl who loved Ib to the point of unhinging. That she would always be the creation Ib regretted the most.

The younger shook her head, as if to clear her bitter thoughts. "Yes, Mary," her throat was oh so raw, and hurt so very much as the poisonous lie sprung forth, "someone like _us_."

A boy-no, a young man-who would keep Mary on her toes. Who would **anger** her to the point of unhinging. Who would...understand her...in a way that Ib...never could.

Ib didn't notice the tears falling down her cheeks, clear and pristine. She clutched at her chest, at her heart, and wailed. She would. She would. She would. Even if it killed her, Ib was finally going to start the actual construction of _him_.

Garry.

* * *

His hand felt so heavy resting on her shoulder. She could hear his raspy breath next to her ear as he whispered to her.

"I don't trust this girl, Ib. Are you sure she's...safe?"

"Yes," Ib couldn't stop the smile from forming on her face. "You'll be just fine with her. Trust me."

"Hmph," he let go of her shoulder, all the while continuing to glare at Mary, who returned the look tenfold.

"I didn't know you were bringing a _boy_ here."

"I didn't know she was _blonde_."

The air crackled with tension, and Ib covered her mouth with her hand to hide the giggle which escaped. They were...just like before. It was almost as if she was back in the past, desperately trying to escape with these two at her side.

"Mary," Ib gestured to the young man beside her, "this is Garry."

"Garry," she turned to him and smiled reassuringly, "meet Mary."

"Get him out of here."

"Let's go, Ib."

Ib squeezed his hand, and she could not help herself as the nostalgia became too strong. Slowly, the tears trekked down her pale cheeks, leaving a clear wetness in their wake.

* * *

She was rendered immobile by this helpless, utterly _human_ feeling. There was an emptiness inside her, one which she can't remember feeling every before. The girl's voices are gone as well, and she couldn't help but think that something was terribly wrong. It was like they'd decided to disappear, to leave her. The memories that she only recently received were leaving, too.

Ib had to go to her world. She had to see her friends, and ask them what was wrong. They must know. They must, they must, they must, they must. Because if they didn't, then who did? Ha. Certainly not Ib.

But she couldn't go there. She couldn't escape to her world. It had shattered. For what reasons, Ib did not know, but each time she attempted to pick up the broken pieces, she was cut. Her hands were nothing less than mangled, red flesh when she decided to stop. Ib sank to her knees, staring at them. Why was this happening? All of a sudden...

That's when she realized. Her hands...it was not blood which poured from them. No. It was paint. A dark crimson paint.

She screamed.

And with her screams, 'reality' shattered.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It wasn't happening. It wasn't. No. No. No.

It couldn't be...after all this time...

She wailed as the fragments pierced her papery skin, as the sharp edges were embedded deep into her mind. The glass seemed to have fallen from the sky, and just when Ib began to think it was stopping, the floor fell out from under her. Darkness enveloped her, greeting the girl with a sharp thud as her backside met a hard, cold nothing.

Ib did not do terror. Never before in her life had she actually been scared to the point of wetting her pants.

This, though, was something else entirely.

She felt the voices again, but they were outside surrounding her instead of dwelling within. Their skeleton like hands reached toward her and caressed her being. Ib felt what little warmth she had leave her as they spoke in unison. She closed her eyes tightly, wanting to end the nightmare.

"Little Ib...Oh, little Ib...We're so proud of you...So, so, proud.'

'You've been such a good girl for us...that's why we let you have a dream. A great, bright dream. But we missed you constantly, little Ib. We love you oh so much, so we had to bring you back."

"EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAH!" Ib screamed again, much louder and stronger than before. Her eyes flew open as the memories overtook her, the pain from long ago returning full force.

No...Then...Ib...had never escaped.

She had simply...created a world inside another world.

"STOP!" she tried to command them, but the voices would not listen.

They swallowed the little girl whole with their deceit, and once more she was plunged into madness.

* * *

**A/N:** If you made here after all of that skippy, weird plot, then I applaud you. This story is seriously crazy, and it's the longest oneshot I've written so far. Sheesh. My head hurts now T_T

The ending didn't turn out how I'd originally planned at all. At first, Ib actually did escape and I wanted her to commit suicide in the end, because she realized her 'world' would never be real. Then I was like, 'Hey! Why not try and give them a mindfuck?'.

Bleh. I'll go crawl in my corner now.


End file.
